The Situation with Pali
by The Author 1945
Summary: After another humilitaing defeat at the hands of Israel, Palestine returns home to his brother, Lebanon. As his brother berates him, Palestine can't help but remember his childhood and how he got to this point. Author-series, multi-chapter.
1. Going Home

Hello, everybody, I'm the Author 1945!

Well, we've been focusing on our little Izzy for so long that we've almost completely forgotten about Palestine and the Arabs. So I felt it was about time for another multi-chapter, this time about the back-story of Palestine and his brothers. So here's chapter one.

**_WARNING!: BEFORE YOU READ THIS BE SURE TO READ MY STORIES IN ORDER OR YOU WONT UNDERSTAND WHAT'S GOING ON! TO GET MY STORIES IN ORDER JUST CLICK MY NAME, THE AUTHOR 1945, AND LOOK UNDER 'MY STORIES_**!

Enjoy!

...

* * *

"So, let me guess: you lost."

Palestine slammed the door behind him with a grunt, brushing his dripping wet hair out of his eyes as he glared at his near-identical brother.

"Shut up, Lebanon," was his only response. The Lebanese nation rolled his eyes.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'" sighed Lebanon, "I keep telling you morons not to bother him."

"Shut up."

"You lose every time…"

"Shut up."

"What's the count at now? Three-thousand something loses?"

"_Shut up_, you damn traitorous freak!" yelled Palestine in frustration as he shoved past his brother and started to make his way upstairs. Lebanon was surprised by his brother's violent shove and stared at Palestine for a minute in shocked hurt before glaring at him.

"Hey!" he shouted, "you know, most people would be a _bit_ more appreciative of the person who's been giving them room and board all this time!"

At that, Palestine stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at Lebanon, glaring murderously at his brother.

"'Room and board'?" he repeated mockingly, "Is that what you call the one piece of pita bread I got for lunch and dinner last night? Or the closet you make me sleep in? Yeah, you're so kind. And meanwhile…"

The Palestinian gestured to the large, luxurious room around him and cried, "My darling brother, Lebanon! Friend of America! The Jewel of the Middle East! Living in a huge house that's all but dripping money from the Westerners who love stopping over and throwing their money at you…and yet all you can spare for your poor, oppressed brother is a closet."

Lebanon went slightly red. Indeed, Lebanon was, as Palestine put it, 'the jewel of the Middle East'. He was the one middle-easterner that wasn't eager to fight with Israel or start a war. He was perfectly content remaining peaceful, and being well-paid for it. Tourists from Western nations were always eager to come to Beirut, his capital and home, to see what life in the Middle East was like without the bombs and wars, to get a taste of the culture. Thus, Lebanon was easily one of the wealthiest and most western nations in the Middle East, even wealthier than third-worlder Israel. Like Israel, he had many friendships and contacts with the West…

And his brothers hated him for it.

Well, many of them did. Syria and Jordan complained about it, but they would never take to actively hating their brother. As for Palestine, it wasn't the Western-made wealth of his brother that he resented, it was his unwillingness to share it with him.

As Lebanon glared at him and he glared at Lebanon, Palestine started to reminisce…

_Allah above_, he thought, _I can remember when we used to love each other…what the hell happened? It's all Israel's fault! Everything would be fine if it wasn't for Israel!_

Israel. The very thought of the name made him want to kill something, Preferably the little Jew himself. Palestine had hated Israel since before he was born. He had never wanted to share his land with anybody. Why should he? He had always been occupied by one land or another, always forced to do what that occupier wanted. Be it England or Turkey or somebody else, he had always been bossed around and he hated it.

But somehow or another, the brat had been born.

Having his land taken wasn't even the worst part. What was worse was that he kept losing over and over to a tiny Jewish land. And what he hated most of all was that arrogant, happy-go-lucky smile that the child always had on whenever he kicked his butt.

Though even Palestine was willing to consent that _everything_ bad that happened to him wasn't completely Israel's fault. The deterioration of his relationship with Lebanon had started before the Israeli was born, once Palestine and Lebanon were split up.

Before they had split up initially, they had been inseparable. From the first moment they met they had been inseparable. He had loved his brother; particularly considering how alone he had been before Lebanon…

...

* * *

_He remembered his first days on earth after he had been born. The first thing he had ever seen were two men standing in front of him, looking down at him with moderate interest. One was old and rather obese, the other was young and strong. He later learned that the older one was called the Ottoman Empire, one of the largest and most powerful Empires to ever live. The younger, his son Turkey, was the one that did most of the dirty work and heavy lifting, however. Ottoman was, by all accounts, a very lazy man._

_Not to mention a terrible father._

_The instant that Ottoman laid eyes on the scrawny new nation, he scoffed._

_"Ugh," he said with a roll of the eyes, "so this is the new holy land?"_

_"Hm," said Turkey with a shrug, picking the baby up and shaking it slightly, causing baby Palestine to burst into tears._

_"Shut it up!" ordered Ottoman. Turkey attempted to shush the child, but try as he might, Turkey was unable to silence the weeping child._

_"Damn little whiner," huffed Ottoman, "Judah never cried. Is this really supposed to be the new holy land?"_

_Judah. That was a name that Ottoman repeated a lot. Usually when he was complaining about Palestine and how much of a disappointment he was. Judah was the original holy land, and had been a great friend to Ottoman. Perhaps that was why Ottoman had never liked Palestine; Pali had taken the land of his old friend and couldn't even match up to her._

_Turkey nodded in agreement as he looked over at his father._

_"Can I put it down?" he asked. Ottoman waved for him to go ahead. Turkey sighed in relief and carelessly put the child down on the hard ground. Palestine stopped crying once he was on the ground and gazed around curiously at the floor. It felt smooth and slippery. He curiously touched his little hand unto the hardwood floor and started crawling foreward, his brown eyes wide with wonder as he felt it under his hands and bare feet._

_Turkey and Ottoman watched with mild interest as Palestine crawled a little bit until he finally arrived at a rug. The child, once he arrived at the rug, widened his eyes and tilted his head to the side, clearly surprised at the sudden change in flooring. He reached his little hand out and brushed it against the new floor. It was fuzzy and soft. Palestine's brown eyes brightened and he happily crawled onto the carpet, smiling widely as he ran his hands and feet over the carpet._

_"Well," chuckled Turkey with mild amusement, "he sure seems to like the floor."_

_"Good, he'll have to spend a lot of time here," said Ottoman, "once he learns to walk and talk and speak, he can leave the nursery. Until then, just keep him here."_

_"Wait, shouldn't we teach him to walk and do all that stuff?" queried Turkey, to which the older man scowled and shook his head._

_"Judah never needed to be taught how to walk and talk," he spat, thus beginning the long line of 'Judah never/Judah always…' comparisons that he would apply to Palestine throughout the young Arab's lifetime._

_"She lived in the desert, had to take care of her brother, had to grow up quickly. Allah was her only helper. This one here," Ottoman gestured to baby Palestine, "is lucky enough to have a comfy room to grow up in where he won't have to worry about food or getting eaten by wolves or kidnapped and enslaved by another nation. That's all he needs. The rest he'll have to do by himself. I never coddled you, I'm certainly not gonna coddle him. And I don't want you coddling him either. Got it?"_

_"Yes, father," said Turkey obediently._

_Evidently, Ottoman didn't know the difference between not coddling Palestine and not loving and taking care of the baby._

_"Very good," said Ottoman, "let's be off them. Leave him to explore a bit."_

_"Wait a minute, father," said Turkey, "shouldn't we name him before we just leave?"_

_Ottoman had already been exiting the room, but at the suggestion that they give the child a name, he stopped for a moment and looked over his shoulder._

_"Oh," said the Empire, "hmm…I suppose you're right. So…what should we call him?"_

_"I don't know…Israel?"_

_Ottoman shook his head. "No, he's gonna be a Muslim like us. Giving him a Jewish name will just confuse people."_

_"Well, what to call him then?"_

_"Hmmm…what was it that Rome used to call this area?"_

_"Judea?"_

_"No, the other name he had for it."_

_"Palestinia."_

_"Palestinia?"_

_Turkey nodded. Ottoman shook his head._

_"Sounds like a girl's name," said the Ottoman Empire, "what's that Arab version of that?"_

_"The Arab version?" Turkey thought for a moment, stroking his chin. After a moment of, he answered, "Filistin, I believe."_

_"Filistin?"_

_Turkey nodded._

_"Okay, Filistin it is. Now let's go."_

_With that quick christening, Ottoman quickly exited the room, closely followed by his son. Turkey slammed the door once he left. Baby Palestine let out a small whimper as the door was shut, leaving the baby in the poorly lit room. Alone._

_..._

* * *

Explanation Time!

Translations:

Arabic:

Allah=God

Filistin=the Arabic way to say 'Palestine.'

Palestinia: We'll get to Rome and the explanation of why he called it that later. For now, just know that at one point, Israel/Palestine was ruled over by Rome and that's what it was called.

Judah: We'll get to her later.

Ottoman: I think I might have said this earlier, but in my head canon Ottoman is Turkey's father and is the one actually running the show, but he's kind of the lazy guy in the background who just sits on the rug smoking while Turkey does all of the actual work.

Lebanon was the jewel of the Middle East: Lebanon, for a long time, was indeed considered the 'Jewel of the Middle East'. Beirut, the capital of Lebanon, was considered to be the Paris of the Middle East. Lebanon was a wealthy, prosperous country, even more so than Israel, for the longest time.

Then Hizbollah came in and screwed everything up. But we'll get to that later.

Palestine was ill-treated in Lebanon's house: More about this coming up. Basically after the 1948 war where Palestine lost and lost it's land, the Palestinians (a lot of them, at least, some stayed in Israel, some moved to other nations) moved to Lebanon. Lebanon, despite being a wealthy nation, didn't exactly roll out the red carpet for their Arab brothers and treat them humanely. They set up refugee camps, never gave the Palestinians citizenship, and basically left them alone in these awful refugee camps. Palestinians aren't well-treated in Lebanon, especially in the refugee camps. In Lebanon, Palestinians are barred from over 70 occupations.

Ottoman sucks as a father: The holy land, which was fertile and beautiful in the time of Judah and Israel, started to turn into a swampy desert after the Ottomans took over. They didn't take very good care of it. It basically stayed in bad condition until just before 1948 war. Mark Twain, on his trip to Israel/Palestine in 1867, even described it as:

"….. A desolate country whose soil is rich enough, but is given over wholly to weeds… a silent mournful expanse…. a desolation…. we never saw a human being on the whole route…. hardly a tree or shrub anywhere. Even the olive tree and the cactus, those fast friends of a worthless soil, had almost deserted the country."

Ottoman ruled Palestine up until the end of WW1 when England took over, but we'll get to that later.

Next chapter: Lebanon explanation and back-story


	2. The Roomate

"Pali? Are you listening? _Palestine!"_

Lebanon's shout snapped the Palestinian nation from his flashback. His head snapped up and he cringed.

"H-huh? What?" he cried. Lebanon rolled his eyes.

"I was _saying_," said Lebanon, "that you stay here on your own accord. If you don't like it here then go live with Israel."

Palestine looked disgusted by the mere suggestion. "Allah forbid! I'm never going to move in with the Zionist pig! I'll either get all of my land back for myself or non of it, but I'm not sharing! I hate him!"

"All right! All right! Point taken," sighed Lebanon, "I don't know why I keep you around. I should have sent you to Syria or Jordan."

"Jordan's a kid, he doesn't want me infringing on his personal space," said Palestine, then he bit his lip as he said, "Jordan got hurt today."

Lebanon's head snapped up at that and Palestine couldn't help but scowl. Of course, if _Jordan_ got hurt Lebanon was all ears, but if _Palestine _got beaten up he just shook his head and called him an idiot for even attempting to take back the land.

"How badly?" queried the Lebanese nation.

"Not too much," said Palestine, "He fell off a rooftop while we were chasing the Zionist. Fell 'bout a story. He's a country, though, and he's pretty tough for a kid."

"He's not really a kid, Palestine," said Lebanon.

"Sixteen in human years?" said Palestine with a quirk of the eyebrow. "He's a kid."

"He'd probably be pissed if you said that to him."

"Whatever. Point being he's a kid and doesn't want his big brother breathing over his shoulder."

"Well, if he's a kid maybe you shouldn't take him with you on your dangerously stupid missions to piss off the Zionist."

"There you go again!" barked Palestine, "Yeesh! Who's side are you on, anyway?!"

"Yours," said Lebanon firmly, "I'm only telling you this because I don't want you to get hurt and I don't want the others to get hurt because of you."

"Yeah, right. If you were so concerned about my safety and well-being you'd give me a nicer place to sleep and better food to eat. You're more concerned about Jordan and Syria, and you're concerned that America'll get pissed and won't want to visit your place anymore if he finds out your harboring…"

"A terrorist?"

"A freedom fighter!" declared Palestine.

"Terrorist, freedom fighter," sighed Lebanon, "whatever you are, you're also an idiot for attacking the boy."

"Pheh! You don't understand," said Palestine. Lebanon rolled his eyes once more and Palestine once again felt his gut wrench. That seemed to be the thing that Lebanon did most when he was around Palestine: roll his eyes.

The Palestinian sighed as he recalled when Lebanon had used to greet him with a smile instead of a roll of the eyes. Lebanon had always smiled at him before, and he had always smiled at Lebanon. The first thing that Palestine had done when he had first seen Lebanon was smile…

...

* * *

_Little Palestine was by no means a fast learner. It took him years (he suspected, though it was hard to tell how long he was in the nursery for) to learn how to stand up. It took him even longer to learn how to speak his own name and speak in general. Before he learned to talk, if he wanted something, he screamed as loudly as he physically could. He screamed and cried and wailed at the top of his little lungs until Turkey came in huffing and puffing in annoyance to change the child's diaper or give the baby some milk. Palestine began to learn that if he cried enough, he would get what he wanted._

_Of course, after he learned to talk, he was expected to knock on the door or ring the bell that had been put in his room as a way to get attention, then wait until Turkey came to him, then ask him very politely for what he wanted._

_However, whenever he was polite and rung the bell or knocked on the door, Turkey would ignore him for hours on end before he finally decided to go to him and see what he wanted. If Palestine cried and whined loudly on the other hand, Turkey responded almost immediately. Sure, the Turk was annoyed when he did so and almost always gave the Palestinian youth a good smack for crying instead of ringing the bell like a good little colony, but he did get Palestine what he wished for promptly. Thus Palestine learned that if he wanted to get what he wanted, he need only complain loudly enough._

_Occasionally, however, he cried out for Turkey to come over to him, not because he needed something, but because he was so lonely and so desperately needed somebody to talk to that he cried out for Turkey and when the Turkey irately came to the nursery and asked what he wanted, the Palestinian youth would bow his head and ask for Turkey to stay for a moment and talk. Normally Turkey did one of two things in response to this. He either growled furiously and slammed the door in the Palestinian's face or, even worse, he barked a laugh._

_"I have no time to waste speaking with a little brat like you," said Turkey, "only call if you have a real emergency."_

_He would then slam the door shut and Palestine would whimper as he repressed lonely tears._

_However, there soon came a day when Palestine's prayers for companionship were answered. Palestine was three years old. He was sliding across the floor of the nursery giggling when suddenly Turkey entered. The Palestinian cringed in surprise as the Turk threw open the door. It was rare that Turkey ever entered the nursery without Palestine calling for him first. The Palestinian stopped his games and quickly ran over to the Turk, standing up as if he was a soldier at attention._

_"Salaam, Mister Turkey," he said. Palestine may have been something of a whiner when he wanted something, but he could also be very polite and hospitable when he was content. The Turk gave a nod of approval at the formal gesture from the Arab child._

_"Hey, kid," he said._

_"Is there a message from Father?" asked Palestine, hope creeping its way into his little voice. He hadn't seen his 'father', Ottoman, in so long that he had almost forgotten what he looked like. He only saw Ottoman during holidays or on the beginning of Ramadan, which was when Ottoman made sure to stop by the nursery and wish his colony a happy holiday. Even though he barely knew his father, the Palestinian seemed to have a natural desire to have a better father/son relationship with him._

_So he was quite disappointed when the Turk shook his head._

_"Nope, not yet anyway," said the Turkish man. The Palestinian child sighed and his shoulders slumped in disappointment._

_"Hey, c'mon, cheer up a bit," said the Turk with a smirk, "I've got good news. Check it out."_

_Turkey gestured down and Palestine looked down at his legs and realized that he and the Turk were not alone in the room. Another nation stood by the Turk, clinging to the end of his ornate coat and peeking out from behind his legs. It was a little boy with soft black hair and brown eyes. His clothes were ragged, covered in dirt and water. As he peeked out at Palestine, his eyes shimmered with a mixture of fear and curiosity._

_Palestine's eyes brightened in surprise and then a slight smile spread across his face._

_"Who's that?" he asked eagerly._

_"New roommate," said Turkey, giving a smile of satisfaction when he saw Palestine's face light up. The Palestinian's heart fluttered. A roommate! A last! He could have somebody to talk to and wouldn't have to summon Turkey when he became desperate enough for companionship._

_"Syria picked him up in the mountains north of your place," explained Turkey, "His name's Lebanon. He's your age. You oughtta thank me, Pali. Since I knew how lonely you are down here and since you were starting to piss me off calling me in all the time I asked Father to let Leb here stay with you. Figured you two could keep each other company."_

_The Turk then looked uncertainly down at the Lebanese nation, who continued to silently peek out from behind his legs, staring at his new roommate apprehensively._

_"And hopefully," sighed the Turk, "you can make him come outta his shell a little bit. He hasn't said a work to anyone but Syria since he got picked up."_

_Palestine nodded eagerly, smiling welcomingly over to Lebanon. Lebanon bit his lip and tightened his grip on Turkey's coat. Turkey carefully managed to pry the child's fingers off of him and pushed him foreward. Lebanon whimpered and spun around to grab onto his coat once more but Turkey quickly retreated, slamming the door behind him._

_Lebanon shuddered and then turned his attention back to Palestine. Palestine smiled happily at him while Lebanon panted, trembling with fear and shyness._

_For a minute there was an uncomfortable silence, but Palestine barely registered the awkwardness. He was too overwhelmed with excitement at his new friend that he was simply unable to focus on anything but his newfound company._

_After a long silence Palestine decided to start the conversation and make Lebanon feel more comfortable. He stepped to the side and gestured to his bedroll that was laid out on the floor._

_"It's kind of small," he said, "but I think we'll both be able to use it. You can keep most of the blanket if you want."_

_Lebanon remained silent, staring at Palestine almost inquisitively._

_"Your clothes are kinda dirty," Palestine noted, gesturing to the other boy's rags, "Why were you in the mountains? Is that where you were born? Have you been living there all this time?"_

_Lebanon didn't speak._

_"I have a few extra clothes," said Palestine, gesturing to his white nightgown, "In my drawers, would you like to use them? I think we may be the same size."_

_Lebanon, in response, raised up his arm, pointing almost accusingly at Palestine. Speaking for the first time, the Lebanese nation declared: "You look just like me!"_

_Palestine's smile melted into a confused expression. He looked down at himself and then back up at the Lebanese nation. Having rarely glanced into a reflective surface since there were no mirrors in the nursery, he actually wasn't entirely sure about what he looked like, so he could hardly tell that he and Lebanon looked similar._

_"I do?" he said inquisitively. Lebanon nodded and ran over to the door, ringing the bell, banging on the door, and shouting for Turkey in a surprisingly loud tone of voice. _

_Turkey ran back to the nursery right away, looking down at Lebanon with a grin._

_"It speaks!" he cried with happy surprise, "Pali, you do good work!"_

_"I didn't do anything…" mumbled the Palestinian, but the Turk ignored that comment and asked Lebanon what he wanted. The Lebanese nation requested a mirror. Turkey was surprised with this request, but the young Arab refused to say why he wanted it and simply asked for the mirror. Turkey obeyed and gave him the mirror, plopping it against the wall and then exiting. _

_As soon as Turkey had left, Lebanon went over to Palestine, grabbed his hand, and led him over in front of the mirror. They both stood side by side in front of it._

_"See?" said Lebanon._

_"Which was is supposed to be me?!" cried Palestine in shock. The only differences between the two were their hair length (Lebanon's hair was slightly longer) and the fact that Lebanon's clothing was dirty and wet._

_Lebanon finally cracked a smile as he tilted his head to the side._

_"Hmmm…" said Lebanon, "why do you suppose we look so similar?"_

_"I da' know…" muttered the Palestinian, "we're both Arabs…maybe we're brothers."_

_Lebanon looked at Palestine and his eyes shimmered slightly, "Brothers? Hmmm…ay wah, that sounds about right. Are you Syria's brother?"_

_"Yes, but I haven't met him yet," said Palestine._

_"He's my brother too," said Lebanon, "so I guess we are brothers."_

_"Brothers," repeated Palestine, his grin broadening, "That's great! The only brother I've met is Turkey, but he doesn't hang out with me that much."_

_"Well," said Lebanon, "I guess you and me can hang out together…Filistin was it?"_

_"Yes, but you can call me Pali if you want," said Palestine, "my Latin name is Palestinia, so Turkey calls me Pali a lot."_

_"Okay," said Lebanon with a bright nod, "and you can call me Leb."_

_"All right, Leb," said Palestine happily as they shook hands, agreeing to call each other by the shorter names, "since we're brothers, can I ask you a question?"_

_"Okay…"_

_"Why were you in the mountains?"_

_..._

* * *

Explanation time!

Translations:

Ay wah=yes

Why Lebanon was in the mountains: Will be explained next chapter.

Jordan and Syria: will be more explained later.

See you in the next chapter!


	3. Bipolar

"Palestine!"

Palestine once more cringed as Lebanon's shout snapped him from his memories. He huffed irately and looked up at his brother, nodding to show that he was listening now.

"Quit daydreaming!" Lebanon demanded, "I'm trying to talk to you."

"_Sorry!"_ cried Palestine, "I was just going over some fond memories!"

"The past is the past," declared Lebanon, "you should live for the present now. And in the present, I was just asking you about what happened to Syria while you were out annoying the Zionist."

Palestine huffed once more. Naturally, Lebanon mocked him, but when it came to _Syria _he was as loving and devoted a brother as could be.

"He's fine, but he lost his temper again," said the Palestinian.

"You're one to talk!" snapped Lebanon defensively.

"Well he _did_!" cried Palestine, "the Zionist called him Ass-Syria and he…"

"Well of course he lost his temper, you know how that gets to him!" Lebanon interrupted, not allowing Palestine to finish. The Palestinian clenched his fists, but then sighed in resignation.

"Oh, never mind," he muttered, "there's no point in arguing: you always defend him."

"Of course I do, he saved…" Lebanon started to say, but then suddenly his head whipped around and the Lebanese man shouted in a much different tone of voice, "**I do not defend him! He's an idiot!**"

Palestine's head snapped up and worry came to his brown eyes.

_Oh, dear,_ he thought, _here comes Leb's personality disorder._

Lebanon's eyes widened and he went from calm to frightened in an instant. He looked to his left as though looking at another person and desperately cried, "I _am _defending him! He's my brother! I don't…"

Before he could finish, however, his other personality interrupted as he snapped his head to the right and snarled, "**He's as much of an idiot as Palestine! He deserves to get himself killed if he keeps…"**

Lebanon interrupted himself: "No he doesn't! He's my brother! He saved me from the mountains, I lov…**hate him!** No! I don't hate…"

Lebanon kept going back and forth, arguing with himself over whether or not he hated Syria while Palestine stood in the background shaking his head. Palestine stood up tall, ready to pounce on Lebanon at any point if his brother started to hurt himself.

At first glance, Lebanon was a calm, cool, controlled nation. Everybody knew him as a relatively peaceful and easygoing man, very rational if a little opinionated. However, there was another side to him that very few nations knew about because Lebanon had kept it a secret for years.

Lebanon was bipolar.

Were he a human, this may not have been such a big deal. A lot of humans were bipolar. But for nations having multiple personality disorder was extremely rare and extremely dangerous.

Nations only started to act bipolar if their population was split right down the middle between two ethnicities, religions, or opinions. America, right before his civil war, had started acting bipolar, arguing with himself as another personality had made its way into his head. However, with most nations becoming bipolar was a sign that the nation was going to split into two nations soon. That was what had happened with America: within weeks of starting to go bipolar his other personality had disappeared and instead a new nation had been formed on his soil: the Confederacy. If they didn't end up splitting into two nations then it was usually because, while their populace argued a lot or had split ethnicities, it wasn't too bad. Canada, for example, had at one point had some bipolar issues due to his split English-French population. However, Canada had gotten control over his people and his nation and thus he no longer had another personality in his head.

Lebanon, however, had been bipolar since a very early age. And his was very dramatic and at times violent. He was at the point where he _should_ have split into two nations long ago, but for some reason the other personality in his head refused to branch out and become a nation of its own, instead content to stay burrowed in the Lebanese nation's mind and come out from time to time to torment Lebanon.

Only three people other than Lebanon knew of his condition: Palestine (naturally), Syria (naturally) and Jordan. Nobody else knew. Not America, not Turkey, not Saudi Arabia, not _anyone._ It was Lebanon's darkest secret. He would jump off a cliff before he told anybody of his condition. Anytime he felt his other personality begin to bubble to the surface when he was in the presence of anybody but his three in-the-know brothers he would run out of the room, saying that he felt sick or had to go to the bathroom or something. A lot of nations thought that Lebanon just had a really weak stomach or some other kind of illness, but they had no clue that he was bipolar.

Lebanon had many reasons as to why he didn't want anybody knowing. For one thing, if anybody knew that he was bipolar they might (rightfully) fear that his other personality could burst out violently at any moment, and thus they would be less eager to visit the 'Jewel of the Middle East." He would lose his wealth, his standing, everything. And so he kept it held in, caged up like a wild, rabid animal that once out would be impossible to stop or control.

It was a secret that Lebanon was deeply ashamed of. In addition to having the possibility of running his life, it was because of his disorder that his mother had abandoned him in the snow-capped mountains…

...

* * *

_Lebanon's earliest memory was of his mother. Her name was Phoenicia. She was a beautiful woman: long dark hair and brown eyes. She always wore a long purple dress and he made sure to keep a grip on it while he followed her about. They didn't have a home to themselves; apparently some other country had taken over their home and so they were forced to run away. Some evil nation called "The Ottoman Empire."_

_"I don't want you," explained his mother whenever he asked why they were running, "to have to grow up under somebody else's rule. We're going up to the mountains. Once we get there we can build a nice little house and wait until the empire falls. No empire lasts forever; they all fall eventually. Once Ottoman falls, then we can go back home."_

_Lebanon would smile happily and nod. He didn't mind having to walk around with his mother. He loved his mother. He loved her smile. He loved her laugh. He loved when she talked about her home by the beautiful seashore and when she spoke of how one day she would take him sailing. He loved when she put him on her back as he started to grow tired and told him stories as they marched forth. He loved when she called him "my perfect little Lebanon" because he was her treasure, the son she had always wanted. Perfect._

_But when he turned three years old, Phoenicia discovered that her perfect little Lebanon was not so perfect._

_Lebanon couldn't recall the exact day it started happening, but as soon as he turned three he started to feel as though there was something in his mind. A vicious beast attempting to claw its way out and occasionally succeeding. It burst out in a bout of uncontrollable shouting and cursing and hitting and kicking. Poor little Lebanon, during these times, was unable to control his actions and was forced to watch; unable to control his body as his other half kicked and screamed at his mother, declaring his hatred for her before Lebanon was eventually able to wrestle control back from his other half and then apologized tearfully to his mother, desperately trying to explain that he hadn't been able to control it._

_At first his mother's reaction was one of concern, like any mother. She had no clue what was wrong with her son. There were no doctors in the mountains, so there was nobody she could consult. She tried her best to get the other personality out of the child's body, praying to her gods to take the spirit away from him. But no matter how much she prayed, she could not banish the 'evil spirit' from her child's body._

_As her son's condition got worse and worse, Phoenicia became less and less concerned and more and more impatient. When his other side reared its ugly head, her eyes would shimmer furiously, clearly angry that her 'perfect little Lebanon' had such a flaw._

_Then finally, one day, Lebanon woke up and his mother was gone._

_Her sack was gone, their tent was gone, their food was gone. He looked around and his little eyes glittered with confusion when he saw that any hint of her presence was gone. He turned to the cedar tree that he had fallen asleep beneath, peeking up into the branches to see if his mother had climbed up there to look ahead. He didn't see her and stood up._

_"Mother?" he cried, "Mother? Mother? Where'd you go?"_

_His eyes darted back and forth as he walked ahead, shouting for his mother. Snow started to come down and he shivered, his little white nightgown not being nearly thick enough to keep him warm. Normally when he got cold his mother held him, hugging him close to keep him warm. But now he was alone in the cold. He peered through the falling snow, his eyes stinging from tears as he cried out for her._

_"M-M-Mother!" he cried desperately, quivering, his arms and legs going numb from the cold. _

_"Mother! Please! Where are you?! It's so cold! Mother! Mother! MOTHER! MAMA!"_

_He cried out in desperation and fear, falling to his knees and shouting into the storm as the wind and snow swirled around him. His mother didn't come. She didn't pick him up. She didn't appear by his side to hug him and apologize for having scared him. _

_She was gone._

_And as Lebanon knelt in the snow sobbing, he came to a realization: _She didn't just loose me…she abandoned me.

_His other half roared in fury at this, wanting to rage and curse her for leaving him to die because of his illness. But he managed to keep his other half down. He was far too distraught and ashamed to feel angry with her._

She was right to run away_, he thought, rising slowly to his feet as the cold became so bitter that his tears froze to his face. _I'm a freak. I don't deserve to have her as a mother.

_He stumbled through the snow, trembling. He didn't know where he was going. He was hundreds of feet up and there was no city for miles. Nowhere to go._

_Finally, he walked in a giant circle and arrived back at the tree. Having nowhere to go, nothing to do, and nobody to follow now, the child fell down at the foot of the cedar. The muddy snow stained his normally pristine white nightgown. He curled into a tiny ball and started to weep. The snow finally stopped falling and he curled up in a ball, shivering as he cried himself to sleep, not knowing what would happen when he woke up._

...

* * *

Explanation time!

Lebanon and Syria: Will be explained next chapter.

Lebanon is bipolar: In my little world of Hetalia, being bipolar is basically the equivalent of being on the verge of civil war, like in the above mentioned cases of America and Canada. The reason Leb is like this is because for the longest time, Lebanon was split almost down the middle between its population of Muslims and its Christian population, both of whom battled for dominance, wanting their faith to become the official religion of the state. For a while this didn't cause too many huge incidents, but all this bottled-up hostility eventually broke out in a Christian-Muslim civil war in Lebanon. But we'll get to that later.

For now, Lebanon has a split personality and wants to hide it. And his mom abandoned him. Jerk.

Oh, and speaking of Lebanon's mom…

Lebanon's Mom: Phoenicia was an old nation that was known for its seafaring people and for its purple dyes. It was located north of Israel, about where Lebanon is today.

And on a side note: Thanks to everyone who's been reading thus far and thanks especially to Canada Cowboy for the awesomely long review!

Next Chapter: Syria enters the picture.


	4. Syria the Pack Mule

_"This is pointless!"_

_The call of anger and frustration caused young Lebanon's eyes to snap open. He sat up on his knees and looked around like a wary animal, perking his ears and hearing a distant conversation._

_"Oh, shut up, Assyria," said a second voice, sounding rather bored and irate._

_There was a huff. "For a billionth time, Sadiq," growled the first voice, "That's not my name anymore! It's just Syria now!"_

_"Whatever," said the first voice, a man named Sadiq, "keep your boots on; we're only gonna be out here for another hour or so."_

_"An hour is more than my back can take!" exclaimed the second man, Syria. Lebanon could hear that their voices were getting closer and closer. His little heart did a back flip. Strangers! Lebanon had never known anybody except for his mother and his mother had warned him constantly that if anybody ever came up to the mountains he was to avoid them. After all, any strangers that came this far up could very well have been sent by Ottoman to capture them._

Idon't have Mother to protect me now_, he thought, trembling from a mixture of cold and fear, _what if they catch me? What if they try and hurt me?

_He looked down at his toes and tried to move them, but they were all but completely frostbitten from having spent the night sleeping in the snow barefoot. He shuddered when he saw how red they were. He looked down at his dirt-encrusted hands, which were as red as his toes, and was only barely able to twitch them._

Then again,_ he thought, _without mother, I'm as good as dead out here anyway.

He peeked back out and squinted. His heart's beating rate increased when he saw that the two strangers were almost up the steep slope of the hill. He could see their figures now. One was quite tall and the other was hunched over.

Maybe I should run out and see who theyare_… thought Lebanon, but he decided that might be dangerous. Instead, the child ducked behind the cedar tree, peeking out so he could see the strangers and decide whether or not they were dangerous. _

_The two strangers finally made it up the mountain and Lebanon was able to get a good look at them. The tall one was exquisitely dressed; his coat and hat were a rainbow of colors and ornate designs. He wore a mask around his eyes, which made it hard for Lebanon to discern his eye color, and he could see a few tufts of brown hair peeking out from under his extravagant hat. He had an air of confidence about him, a way of holding himself up that seemed to say 'I'm in charge and don't you forget it."_

_The other man was hunched over due to a huge backpack he had slung over his back. It was clear that he must have been the ornate man, Sadiq's, servant or something. He was obviously acting as the pack mule for the richer man, carrying all of his things. While he was dressed warmly, with a large woolly coat, his outfit was dark brown and not nearly as beautiful as Sadiq's. He grunted, looking about ready to buckle from the sheer weight of the backpack and raised his deep black eyes to glare at Sadiq. His anger at the other man was transparent. Sadiq, however, didn't even glance at him. He was either oblivious or (more likely) indifferent to the fury of his servant._

_"My back is killing me," groaned Syria through gritted teeth. Sadiq seemed to roll his eyes at that (though it was hard for Lebanon to tell with the mask on and all.)_

_"Quit complaining," ordered Sadiq, "I'm no more comfortable than you are."_

_"What?!" cried Syria, "Oh, yeah! Sure! It's not like I'm carrying a thousand pounds on my back or anything!"_

_"Hey, it's cold as Russia out here and I wanna go home too," said Sadiq, "but orders are orders. If we go back home too soon then Father'll get pissed. The last thing I want is Father to be pissed."_

_"True," moaned Syria, "but can we at least stop and take a break?!"_

_"We can't risk the escapee getting away, we should look for another hour," Sadiq pointed out._

_"I'm not gonna be alive that long! I need a break now!" cried Syria, his legs starting to buckle. At seeing that Syria was truly about to collapse, Sadiq sighed in resignation._

_"Fine, but only for ten minutes."_

_"Thank Allah!" cried Syria, throwing the backpack off and lying flat on his back, panting. Sadiq gave an amused smirk and shook his head. He sat down across from Syria and leaned back against one of the trees._

_"You still alive?" he asked after a minute of Syria lying down without moving an inch. Syria sat up, his formerly angry look replaced with a very slight smile though there still seemed to be an innate frustration emulating from him._

_"Ay wah," he said, "the snow feels good on my back. Allah above!" _

_He then proceeded to lean against the very cedar Lebanon was hiding behind. Afraid that Sadiq might see him while speaking with Syria, Lebanon stopped peeking out at the two and hid behind the tree, hugging his legs to his stomach and keeping his ears up to hear their conversation._

_"So…" sighed Syria, deciding that the longer he kept Sadiq talking the longer he could rest, "anything goin' on back home?"_

_Sadiq smiled and shrugged. "Eh…nothing much. Father's as demanding as ever and…oh! You're brother, Filistin, he's been speaking pretty clearly."_

_"Is he now?"_

_"Yeah. Won't shut up, actually. Kid gets pretty lonely. Not that I can blame him, but still…"_

_"I should visit him sometime," mused Syria._

_"You should," Sadiq confirmed, "He's like that. You're his big brother and you haven't even seen him once. He looks a lot like you, too. Doesn't act like it too much, though; way too whiney."_

_"Ha! Yeah. By the time I was his age I was already planning on becoming an empire!"_

_"Well," said Sadiq with a smirk, "better he doesn't have any territorial or imperial ambition. He is our territory after all."_

_Syria's surly demeanor promptly returned at the word 'our territory.' Fire flashed from his beetle-black eyes._

_"Well," he huffed, quickly changing the subject, "have you heard anything else? Maybe from the other countries?"_

_"Oh, the usual. I hear France and England are fighting again."_

_"That's not what I would call 'news.'"_

_"This time it's over some new nation they found."_

_"New nation? Where?"_

_"Somewhere in the New World. I don't remember what it was called. 'A' something."_

_"Hm. I pity the child, whoever he is. Going with either France or England wouldn't be good for him."_

_"Ay wah. I heard Finland's in the mix too, though. With any luck he'll end up adopting the kid."_

_"Allah willing. Say, did you hear about Prussia's little brother?"_

_"Holy Rome?"_

_"Yeah, him."_

_"What about him?"_

_"Still gone!"_

_"Still?! It's been forever!"_

_"Ay wah. His brother's starting to panic. And he left a sweetheart over in Europe apparently. A lot of people are starting to say he's dead."_

_Sadiq huffed at that, "I would hope so! And eye for an eye, I say! After what he did to David and his people he deserves to be punished! To hell with him!"_

_"I agree, though you know I'm not too fond of the Jews."_

_"Oh, for the love of Allah, enough with the infidel thing, Syria!" cried Sadiq in frustration, "they're not so bad. And you know my Father hates it when you curse at Judah and David's people."_

_"I'm just saying I didn't like Judah, I never knew David that well, and I'm not fond of people who don't accept Allah. Just my opinion…"_

_"Hey, I didn't know Judah either and I only met David a few times, but he was nice enough and I think his people are good citizens."_

_"Hm," grunted Syria, not wishing to continue an argument with Sadiq, "Well, anyway…what about in the East? Have you heard anything from the East?"_

_The two nations continued to exchange rumors and stories from the other nations, sometimes laughing over the stupidity of their fellow nations, sometimes making bets over a certain nation winning a war against another nation, and sometimes breaking out into arguments which Sadiq inevitably (being the boss and therefore subject to having the last word) always won._

_As they spoke, Lebanon listened closely, still trying to figure out why they were here in these snowy mountains and whether or not they meant him any harm._

_However, they continued on and on, talking and talking. Lebanon started to get uncomfortable and moved his legs so that they wouldn't fall asleep._

_Crack!_

_The Lebanese nation cringed as, when he moved, he ended up accidentally stepping on a stick buried in the snow, causing it to break with a loud cracking noise._

_Syria, hearing the noise, stopped mid-sentence and scowled, perking up his ears._

_"Did you hear that?" he muttered, his hand flying to his sidearm. Sadiq chuckled._

_"Oh, calm down," he said, "It's probably just a goat. You're so paranoid!"_

_Syria grunted, not removing his hand from the hilt of his sword, looking around suspiciously._

_"Well," he mumbled, "we _are_ hunting an escapee. Phoenicia could be anywhere. We need to be careful."_

_Lebanon couldn't help but let out a small gasp at that. They were here for mother._

_As he gasped, however, he slapped his hand over his little mouth and his heart pounded. Had Syria heard that?_

_Apparently so. The Syrian, upon hearing the gasp, leapt to his feet and drew out his sword._

_"That was no goat!" he declared with a snarl. Sadiq cringed and quickly took out his own sword. By the time he had done so, Syria had run around the cedar tree. Lebanon tried to run, but he was too frightened to move. The Syrian leapt right in front of the child, his sword raised in the air._

_The child cried out in terror and curled into a ball, bursting into tears and trembling with fear._

_"D-don't kill me!" he begged, "P-please don't hurt me!"_

_Syria's angry expression melted into one of surprise when he saw it was merely a child. He looked down at the weeping boy with curiosity. He went red and quickly sheathed his sword. He looked over his shoulder at Sadiq, who was standing a few feet away with his sword drawn. Syria gestured for him to stay back._

_"It's just a kid," he said, "put your sword away."_

_Sadiq nodded and quickly sheathed his blade, then watched from a distance as Syria got on his knees in front of the child._

_"Hey, hey, kid," he said awkwardly, feeling terribly embarrassed and ashamed over making the little boy cry, "I…I guess I'm kinda sorry, I wasn't trying to hurt you."_

_Lebanon wasn't so easily calmed. He continued to hide his face and weep, tears streaming down his ice-nipped cheeks._

_Syria pursed his lips and tried to think of a way to calm the child down. He looked down at the boy and noticed now red he was._

_"Allah above," he muttered, "you must be freezing, how long have you been out here?"_

_Lebanon didn't answer but continued to weep in fear. He turned his face away from the Syrian, not looking up at the man. He was too scared to move, too scared to look at the bigger nation. He was afraid that if he looked up, the man would raise his sword once more. And his mother wouldn't be there to rescue him._

_However, he suddenly felt warm as a thick, soft material was draped over him. His head snapped up and his brown eyes widened when he saw that the Syrian had taken off his coat and was wrapping the child in the warm fur._

_"There," said Syria, "Is that better?"_

_Lebanon was silent for a moment. He looked down at the coat and then back up at the Syrian man. Syria looked down at the tear-stained face of the child and a very small smile came to his usually angry features._

_Lebanon sniffled and tightened the coat around his body, giving a little nod. Syria reached out, his hand hovering over the child's head. The Lebanese nation whimpered and ducked, however Syria didn't harm him and instead ruffled his wet and dirty hair. The little boy looked up, confusion sparkling in his brown eyes._

_"Can you talk?" asked Syria gently, "Are you all right? You must be freezing, why are you out here?"_

_Lebanon opened his mouth to answer, but quickly stopped himself. _

If I talk,_ he thought, _then the bad thing in my head might come back out and say something mean. I don't want to say anything mean. I don't want to make him angry!

_So he remained silent, biting his lip. Syria sighed._

_"There's no need to be scared," he assured him, "We're not gonna hurt ya'. My name's Syria, and my human name is Bashir Rhadhib. You can call me Bashir if you like."_

_He offered him his hand. Lebanon hesitated for a moment before he poked his hand out of the coat and grasped Syria's fingers, shaking his hand._

_"There we go!" said Syria, helping the child to his feet, grasping his little hand._

_"Do you have a name? Can you tell me your name?" he asked. Lebanon shook his head, remaining mute._

_"Is there something wrong?"_

_Lebanon nodded._

_"Can you talk?"_

_Lebanon nodded. Syria smiled bitterly._

_"Are you scared?" he asked, "you can talk but you just don't want to?"_

_Lebanon nodded. Syria clicked his tongue._

_"Okay, okay, okay…" he muttered, trying to figure out a way to make the child feel comfortable enough to speak. He looked the child up and down and shook his head when he saw that, even in spite of the warm coat, the child was still shivering._

_"Are you cold?" he asked. Lebanon nodded. Syria listened closely and could hear the child's stomach growling slightly._

_"Hungry?" he asked with a smile. Lebanon's eyes widened and he nodded with even more vigor._

_"I thought so," said Syria with a smile. He looked over at Sadiq and cried, "Turkey! Get a fire started! We've got a guest!"_

...

* * *

More Syria and Lebanon next chapter!

Explanation time!

'Some new nation in the New World that starts with an A." I'll give you three guesses who they're talking about.

Holy Rome: You may all start crying now.

David and Judah: The original Holy Lands. Israel's grandmother and grandfather. We'll get more into them later, especially their relations with Holy Rome, Syria, and the others.

Cedar tree: the cedar tree is the national symbol of Lebanon, even appearing on the Lebanese flag.

And on a completely unrelated note…

A WARNING TO MY AUDIENCE: Be careful what you buy on Amazon!

So here's the thing: when I read the Hetalia books I used to read them on a scantelation site. However, due to copyright I guess, the site stopped carrying the Hetalia books. Well, I naturally didn't want to be deprived of my Hetalia and so I did the natural thing: I went on Amazon to find the book. I found a Hetalia #1 book at a very good price and promptly ordered it. It shipped quickly and arrived a week later. It was clean, crisp, colorful…

And entirely in Japanese.

Yeah, I don't know who to blame for this: me or the seller. On the one hand, given that it's an animae, I probably should have thought to look at the language it was in before I bought it, which I neglected to do. On the other hand, everything BUT the product was in English. The title, the product description, everything! Agh!

Lesson learned. Well, at least I can say I'm reading Hetalia just like Himaruya wrote it…except I can't read it!

So if any of you are thinking of buying something off of Amazon or any other site, be sure to check the language before you hit 'buy.'

And that's my public service announcement for the day, folks. On to chapter sinco!


	5. Bite the Lip

_It didn't take Turkey too long to make a fire, which in Lebanon's eyes was quite an achievement considering the fact that it was still very snowy outside and all of the wood was soggy. However, somehow or another Turkey managed to get a spark and before long they had a large, cozy campfire blazing right in the middle of the snow._

_"The trick is how to rub the sticks so you can get a spark," said Turkey with a grin at seeing the look of awe on young Lebanon's face as Sadiq managed to light the fire in spite of all the drawbacks, "Even if they're kinda wet, if you let them sit on your lap for a while and as long as they're not soaking, if you rub them the right way you'll be able to get a fire going. Here, let me show you."_

_Lebanon smiled and eagerly nodded, taking the two sticks from Turkey and hopelessly trying to get a spark. As much as he tried, however, he couldn't manage to get so much as a flicker. He huffed in disappointment and gave up almost immediately. Turkey chortled._

_"Oh, c'mon, kid," laughed Turkey, "ya' can't give up that easily! Life's all about failing and trying again."_

_Lebanon, however, didn't want to embarrass himself by failing again. He would much rather fail once and simply never try again than try multiple times and keep failing over and over._

_Turkey rolled his eyes and threw the sticks back into the snow. "All right, suit yourself."_

_Syria, meanwhile, was rifling through the billion-pound satchel that he had previously been carrying on his back, trying to dig out something that a child as young as Lebanon could eat. He smiled victoriously when he finally managed to yank out an apple. He examined the fruit. It was perfect; completely bruise-free and ruby-red, and soft enough that it wouldn't be any harm to a young child provided the child had strong teeth._

_Syria hid the apple behind his back and walked over to where Lebanon sat by the fire. The child was so close to the fire that it was a wonder that Syria's fur coat (which the child still had wrapped around his body) hadn't caught fire yet. Lebanon could feel his formerly numb fingers starting to thaw; the blood in his toes unfroze and started to circulate once more. He was staring intently at the fire, practically hypnotized by it. Syria had to lightly tap the child on the head to get his attention._

_"Smile," Syria commanded. Lebanon looked mildly confused, but obeyed nonetheless, flashing the Syrian a toothy grin._

_"Good," said Syria at seeing the child's healthy teeth, "you can have this then."_

_He whipped the apple out from behind his back and offered it to the child. Lebanon's eyes sparkled and he snatched the apple from the Syrian's hands, biting into it and beginning to happily eat away at it. Syria chuckled and sat beside the boy, ruffling his dirty black hair._

_"You're welcome," he said. There was a brief silence as they sat around the fire, the only sound being the crackling of the flames and the sound of Lebanon chewing the apple. Finally, the boy finished the apple and Syria was forced to snatch the core away from the child before he started trying to eat that as well._

_"No, no," he scolded, "that part's not for eating." He threw the core over his shoulder._

_"There," he said, "Now maybe an apple tree can grow here someday."_

_Lebanon let out a sigh of disappointment. He was no longer famished, but he still wanted more food. At seeing the look of disappointment on Lebanon's face, Syria let out another chuckle._

_"Don't worry, kid," he said, "we can get you another apple when we get back home."_

_Lebanon's ears perked up at the word 'home.' He looked up at Syria with surprise. Turkey jumped in:_

_"You see, kid," said Turkey, "My Father's name is the Ottoman Empire."_

_Lebanon froze. That name…he would recognize it anywhere. It was the one his mother had cursed nightly as they had wandered the mountains, the one that she had warned him about. Ottoman Empire…the one who had stolen their home! So these men were not only looking for Mother, but they wanted to return her to the evil Ottoman Empire!_

_For a moment he started to feel that dreaded Other Half of him rise up in this mind, wanting to scream and curse at the two men and run away._

_No…no…_he argued_…I can't…I'll die…no…stay down…please…stay down…_

_He bit his lip and screwed up his face, almost causing himself to bleed. Turkey was so focused talking about his father and his empire that he didn't even notice the child's struggle. Syria, however, sitting right beside the boy, had a front row seat. Seeing that the child was clearly in deep distress, he narrowed his eyes._

_Turkey continued: "My Father rules the caliphate. A Caliphate is an Islamic Empire. Do you know about Islam?"_

_Lebanon said nothing, continuing to force down the wicked other half of him._

_"Islam is a greatest religion in the world," explained Turkey, "Everybody in our Empire is Muslim. Me, Father, Syria. But we've been searching for a rebellious woman who ran away because she didn't want to join our Islamic empire. We're trying to find her and get her to come back and join our empire. Do you know…?"_

_"Turkey!" hissed Syria. Turkey looked up at the Syrian. Syria gestured down to the child, who now had tears running down his little cheeks and was quietly sobbing, blood starting to stain his lips as he bit down so hard that he actually cut himself. Turkey winced and looked back up at Syria as if to ask what he had done wrong. Syria gestured for Turkey to go off somewhere and leave him alone to calm the child._

_Turkey nodded and rose to his feet._

_"Ahh…" he muttered, "gotta take a piss, be right back!"_

_Syria almost wanted to laugh at that, but held it in as the great and mighty representative of the great and mighty Ottoman Empire fled to the bushes in fear of a small child's tears._

_Once Turkey was gone, Syria turned his attention to the weeping, bleeding child. He pulled out a handkerchief and said, "Hey, kid."_

_Lebanon finally stopped biting down on his lip. His other personality quickly subsided once he realized that the Turkish nation was gone. He tasted the salty blood on his lip and his face burned with shame. He turned away from Syria but the Syrian grabbed the boy's chin and forced him to look at him as he dabbed away at the blood._

_"Y'know…" muttered Syria to the thoroughly shocked child, "I would prefer it if I didn't have to call you 'kid'. I'd like to know your name."_

_Lebanon shuddered, remaining mute._

_"I mean," Syria continued, "whatever's wrong, I won't hold it against you. I don't care why you were left out here: that isn't right. You seem like a nice kid, but I wish you'd be willing to say something or tell me what's going on. I'm not here to hurt you, kid, I'm just trying to help. But I can't help you if you're not willing to trust me enough to say anything."_

_Lebanon started up at him in shock and then bowed his head in shame. Syria smiled bitterly._

_"Don't be ashamed," he said, "I'm just trying to be friendly."_

_Syria turned back to his backpack in order to put the now blood-stained rag away._

_"Lebanon."_

_The voice was so quiet that at first Syria thought it was the wind, but then he looked over at the child and saw that he was crying once more._

_"What?" he said, "Sorry, did you say something?"_

_At once, the child started wailing, "Lebanon! Lebanon! My name is Lebanon! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I have a big problem! I'm a freak! I want my mother! I want to go home!"_

_The child broke down and starting sobbing his little eyes out. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into the stern yet oddly comforting eyes of the Syrian._

_"You're not a freak," he declared, "and you'll be going home soon, I promise. For now, Lebanon, let's talk…"_

_..._

* * *

Thanks to everybody for reviewing and for your patience with my updating!

Speaking of updating:

WARNING! I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO UPDATE THIS FIC REGULARLY FROM NOW UNTIL MARCH 8.

The reason being I have an SAT coming up. I MIGHT have a sporadic update here or there and for those of you who have been reading my _Review of an Awful Fanfic_, I may update that. Otherwise, I'm not gonna have the time to type and update the way I normally do. I'm gonna be too busy studying my little author butt off. Sorry, but I don't enjoy it any more than you do. Besides, I need to do well so I can get into a good college and hopefully someday you'll all be reading my material in the bookstore or on your Kindles rather than just online J

Wish me luck!


	6. Down the Mountain

I'M BAAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK!

Ugh! Five hours! I was sitting at a little desk in a cramped room doing math problems for FIVE HOURS! Torture! Pure and unholy torture! But I'm back now, and my next SAT is a month away! So let's continue with our story, shall we?

...

* * *

_After Lebanon had told Syria of his condition and Turkey had returned, the three nations set off from the mountains. Syria had promised Lebanon that he wouldn't tell a soul about his Other Half and so he remained silent during almost the entire trip back. Turkey assumed that he was just tired from having to carry the heavy pack and didn't question his unusual silence as they descended down the mountain._

_"The trip down shouldn't be as hard as the trip up," said Turkey, "We should be down in no time."_

_"Thank Allah!" cried Syria with a huff, gripping little Lebanon's hand. Lebanon held fast to Syria, not wanting to be separated from him. For one reason or another, he felt an odd connection to Syria, almost an innate trust. Perhaps it was because Syria had been so nice and understanding, but Lebanon trusted him enough to allow Syria to lead him off to the Ottoman Empire, even though he had been warned since birth to never go anywhere near that accursed conqueror._

_As he started to move down the path, Lebanon took a single look back at the cedar tree where his mother had abandoned him. He tightened his grip on Syria's hand._

_"Bashir," muttered Lebanon sadly and Syria grinned when Lebanon referred to him by his human name. Referring to a country by their human name was a sign of closeness and friendship._

_"Ay wah, Leb?"_

_"Will I ever see Mother again?" asked the child. Syria's eyes darkened._

_"Maybe," he sighed, "though I don't know why you would want to after what she did to you. Not right, abandoning your own kid…"_

_He shook his head. Lebanon bit his lip. He knew in his heart that Syria was right, that his mother had abandoned him to either death or capture and if it hadn't been for Syria he would be either freezing, starving, or dead. But still, as he thought of his mother and remembered the way she had smiled at him and loved him before his problem started coming to the surface, he couldn't find it in himself to hate her. She was still his mother after all, and he still wished he could see her one last time, if nothing else at least to ask her why she had abandoned him just because of his problem._

_Seeing the disgruntled look on Syria's face, Lebanon decided to change the subject._

_"Will I be living with you?" asked Lebanon. Syria's irate expression became one of sympathy and he opened his mouth to answer._

_Before he could, however, Turkey piped up: "Nah ah, kid. You're gonna be staying with me in Father's house, in the nursery. Once you're old enough you'll move out and can live in a house in your own land under our jurisdiction, since you're gonna be part of our empire. But you're not gonna be living with Syria."_

_Lebanon's eyes widened in fear as he looked up at Syria. He didn't want to be separated from him! Syria had been the one to help him, and he was the one who knew of Lebanon's problem! Syria was nice and kind and the boy didn't want to be left alone in Ottoman's house without him to protect him! _

_Syria looked equally distressed about his._

_"Turkey, please!" he hissed, "The kid…I don't think he'll do well in the nursery by himself…"_

_"He won't be by himself," Turkey pointed out, "Filistin will be with him."_

_"If anything, that's worse!" hissed Syria, "I'd be willing to watch over him until he's old enough to go to his own place. He's a well-behaved kid, I don't think it's necessary…"_

_"Why are you so hesitant about him being in the nursery?" the Turkish nation asked, looking back at his colony with a suspicious gleam in his eyes. Syria flushed and glanced down at Lebanon. Lebanon's big brown eyes begged the Syrian nation not to tell the Turk, not matter what._

_"I…just think he's too mature for the nursery," said Syria, "and he's kinda gotten attached to me."_

_He gestured to the child gripping his hand. Turkey sniffed._

_"If anything, that's another reason to separate you two," said the Turk, "Last thing I need is for the kid to only be talking to you. It's a big empire and there are a lot of countries that he's gonna have to work with. He's gotta be able to work with other countries."_

_Lebanon gave a slight whimper, feeling fearful tears threatening to burst. He certainly couldn't handle being around a whole bunch of countries, not while he had such a volatile condition. What if they found out? Would they cast him out like mother? Would they abandon him to die too? Syria hadn't, but he didn't know if the other countries would be like Syria._

_At seeing the fearful look on the child's face, Turkey gave him a comforting yet still somehow arrogant smile._

_"Don't worry, kiddo," he assured the boy, "You'll like being part of the empire. As long as you're nice to the other countries, they'll be nice to you. And the nursery is nice too. Filistin's kinda whiney, but to be fair he's lonely. He'll be happy to meet you."_

_"Filistin?" repeated Lebanon._

_"My younger brother, and Syria's too. He occupies the Holy Land. He's your age. Father doesn't pay him too much mind and I don't have the time or patience for spending time doing little kiddy stuff. But you'll like him, and he'll like you."_

_Lebanon's stomach clenched up in fear of meeting a stranger, and one his age at that. He had never played with another child in his life. And if he was going to be stuck with this 'Filistin' person then it was almost certain that he would eventually figure out about Lebanon's condition. What if he bullied him? What if he mocked and hit him and called him a freak? The thought made a shudder go up the child's spine._

_Syria, at seeing the scared look on the boy's face, leaned over as much as he could without collapsing under the weight of the huge backpack. _

_"I'll visit as much as I can and make sure you're okay," he assured him, "I work for Turkey so I'm in Istanbul a lot. I'll stop by as often as I can and make sure Filistin's being nice to you. Don't worry."_

_He gave the boy a little pat on the head and his assurances brought another small smile to the face of the Lebanese nation. At the same time, though, the boy remembered the conversation between Syria and Turkey wherein Syria had mentioned that he hadn't visited Palestine yet._

But if he's in Istanbul so often,_ thought Lebanon, _why wouldn't he take time to visit his little brother? Is he lying about being there often?

_Lebanon didn't want to believe that Syria was lying to him, so instead he started to assume that it had something to do with Palestine himself. _

_Before Lebanon could ask Syria why he had never visited Palestine, there was a 'neigh!" Lebanon cringed as a great monster started running over to them. It was a huge, swift, brown creature with some sort of giant cart attached to its backside. Lebanon let out a cry of terror and leapt behind Syria. The Syrian nation chortled and tugged at the boy's hand._

_"Hey, it's all right," he said, "It's just a horse. That's our ride."_

_Lebanon peeked out from behind Syria and stared up at the giant creature. The horse snorted and lifted its head as its rider yanked at its reins, pulling it to a stop. Lebanon looked up at the rider. It was a very young man, even younger than Syria or Turkey. Probably thirteen or fourteen. He was dressed in a gray uniform with a red and white Turkish flag sewn on his chest. He had a very stern, no-nonsense expression on his face and his brown eyes glittered with slight curiosity as he gazed down at Lebanon. Syria let go of Lebanon's hand to put his backpack in the carriage while Turkey approached the driver with a smile._

_"Hey, Baghdad, it's about time you showed up!" he laughed. The driver's almost perpetual scowl deepened._

_"How many times do I have to tell you," huffed the teenager, "that my name isn't Baghdad any more. It's Iraq now."_

_"You stole that name from Iran," jested Turkey with a smirk as he took off his hat and opened the carriage door. Iraq huffed._

_"He's a jerk anyway," he said bitterly, "Besides, it's not the same name. Mine's better."_

_"Whatever," sighed Turkey with a shrug._

_"Who's this?" asked Iraq, gesturing down to the child. Lebanon shrunk away from his unfriendly face and thanked the Gods when Syria finished fastening his backpack to the carriage and ran to Lebanon's side._

_"This is Lebanon," said Syria, "He's the son of the criminal we were chasing. She abandoned him in the mountains."_

_"Why?"_

_"I don't know," lied Syria, then he added, "He's a perfectly nice boy."_

_Iraq sniffed, "Heathens for you, don't care about anything. Not even their own flash and blood."_

_Syria nodded in agreement and picked the child up. He helped Lebanon into the cart and sat the boy down beside him. Lebanon gazed around the interior of the carriage as he sat beside the Syrian nation. The seats were soft, cushy, and velvet. The interior was a rainbow of exquisite colors and designs, just like Turkey's apparel. He looked from the colorful interior to Syria and Iraq's dull uniforms and hoped that he could get to wear pretty colors like Turkey and wouldn't have to be confined to such drab apparel._

_"All set?" asked Iraq as Syria and Turkey sat down. The two elder nations nodded._

_"What about you, kid?" asked the teen. Lebanon settled down and scooted next to Syria, resting his head on his arm. He nodded to indicate that he was ready to go. Iraq looked as though he might have smiled, but it almost seemed like he had forgotten how. His lips tightened and he gave a curt nod._

_"Good," he said. He looked over at Turkey and queried, "Did you find the escapee?"_

_Turkey frowned and shook his head. "No, just the kid."_

_Iraq shrugged. "No skin off my nose. The less time you spend wandering around the mountains, the less time I have to spend sitting around the horse cart waiting for you to come back down."_

_"Couldn't you have rode up with them?" asked Lebanon, "It would have made the trip faster and Syria wouldn't have had to have carried all that stuff."_

_"La," said Iraq, "Too steep. Hesaan here wouldn't be able to deal with it."_

_He patted the back of the horse's neck. Lebanon smiled._

_"Hesaan?" he repeated, "Is that the horse's name?"_

_Iraq nodded. He still didn't smile, but a fond glitter came to his dark eyes, which clearly showed that he cared for his steed._

_"Hesaan is Arabic," said Syria, "It means 'horse'. Iraq isn't known for his creativity."_

_ Iraq grunted. Lebanon giggled._

_"Whatever," huffed Iraq, "You sure you want to go back now? Your father's going to be mad when he learns you failed to catch the criminal, especially if you go home so early."_

_"Don't remind me," sighed Turkey, "No, let's go home now. The sooner we get the kid to Istanbul the better. As long as we managed to catch one country, Father won't get too angry."_

_"All right," said Iraq, "Then let's hurry, it's almost dark. We don't want to risk running into marauders or heathens. Hut-hut, Hesaan!"_

_Hesaan let out a whinny and the carriage lurched as the horse took off. Lebanon stood up on the soft seats and took one last look back at the snow-capped mountains as they got smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing over the horizon as the Arabs made their way to Istanbul._

_..._

* * *

Explanation time!

Translations:

Arabic: La=No

Iraq: And here he is! Haven't seen him in a while! We'll get more into him later.

Hesaan: A horse of course! An Arabian horse!

Istanbul: Formerly Constantinople, the capital of the Byzantine Empire. We'll get more into this city later.

"Iran will be upset": We'll get more into Iran and Iran's rivalry with Iraq later. Safe to say, their names may be similar but they're anything but friends (as anyone who knows about the Iran-Iraq war will know.)

Baghdad: Capital of Iraq.

Syria never visited Palestine: Poor Palestine, he's the eternally forgotten one.

Speaking of Palestine, where on earth did he go? I thought he was supposed to be the main character of this fic!

**Palestine: GYAH! I've been abandoned again!**

Not to worry, Pali! We'll come back to you in the next chapter.

Hut-hut!


End file.
